Resurrection The Alice Saga
by Sam M. Holmes
Summary: A Sequel to Volunt Vivere. Hoffman and Alice face a familiar enemy... but isn't he supposed to be dead? "And Caesar falls..." Hoffman/OC Please R&R. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

I just couldn't keep away. Here is another Hoffman/Alice fic for those who enjoyed my original SAW fan fiction. This is set way past the last movie so you all know. Major references to my first story. You should read it first. WARNING: Character Death

I don't own the SAW franchise. But it's so awesome…

Can't Escape My Nightmares

Alice jerked awake, balling up the blankets in her fists. Sweat ran down her back as tears traced down her cheeks. Her breathing began to slow as the vision cleared. She wasn't there anymore. She was here. A figure moved next to her, rolling over in the bed. With the instincts of a cop, she brought a fist down on the figure, which yelped and shot up. Hoffman grabbed her wrists, pushing her against the headboard.

"Alice! Wake up!" he winced. A fresh bruise was forming on his shoulder.

Alice's eyes widened, pleadingly. "Oh God, Mark! Are… are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Are you?"

Alice nodded. Hoffman released her wrists, sinking back under the duvet. "What was this one about?" One hand rubbed his shoulder while the other coaxed Alice back under with him. She settled next to him, nuzzling against his chest.

"The asylum. E… Eric."

Hoffman nodded knowingly. He hugged her to him. After the loss of her brother, Alice had changed. On the surface, she had become tough as nails. She took over John's work with considerable ease. But when it came down to it, she was broken. Every night, she dreamt of blood. Dripping off a table… her brother's eyes wide and unseeing. She dreamt of Hoffman hanging above the pool of acid… of him falling in, screaming as the acid disintegrated his skin. She dreamt of the drill entering her own head instead of Mallick. Tears leaked from her eyes. Shaking, she let Hoffman stroke her back.

"It's alright. You're here with me. Forget that place."

Alice sniffed. "I… I know."

Hoffman planted a rough kiss on the top of her head. "Relax. Come on, go back to sleep."

"Will the nightmares return?" it came out a whisper.

"I'll be right here."

Alice nodded, closing her eyes. Hoffman closed his own, cherishing her heat. He only wished that he could deliver her from the night terrors. Slowly, they both returned into the darkness, breathing in each other's scent.

* * *

Tapp dialed Hoffman's cell quickly, pressing it against his ear. A sleepy voice answered. "Hoffman, our subject is moving towards the workshop. Orders?" Hoffman grunted, whispering something to the side. Probably Alice.

"We're on our way," he groaned. Tapp shot a farewell and flipped the phone closed. He adjusted the camera angle on the screen, tapping furiously into the keyboard. The subject in question held up a gun and was moving quietly towards the front. Tapp pressed another button and four separate screens flashed up. Everything was in place.

"Tapp?" Tapp turned partway, waving Ryan over. Ryan perched atop a rolling chair, looking at the screen. "Where are Alice and Hoffman?"

"They're on their way."

"He's getting awfully close."

"We'll be ready."

* * *

Hoffman pulled a shirt over his head, tugging it into place. Alice pulled on her boots, sitting on the messy bed. She couldn't meet his gaze as her own picked out the purplish bruise on his shoulder. Even with the healing period, he also had a severe limp, putting as little weight on his ankle as he could. His scar traced its way up the side of his face, fading but still prominent. He was beat up, but Alice loved him. Every bit of him.

"Subject?"

"Gavin Wan, born in 1989, residence 1734 Oak Street on the West side of town."

"Crime?"

"Rapist."

Alice nodded. "Is the trap ready?"

"Nearly."

"That's encouraging. He's too early."

"Which is why we're getting out of bed."

Alice nodded. Approaching Hoffman, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him down to her level. She pressed his lips against hers, nipping at his bottom lip. Hoffman groaned in her mouth, returning the kiss. He broke quickly.

"Game, remember?"

"Couldn't we just…?"

"No." Hoffman secured his shoulder holster, loading his 9 mil. Alice frowned, sticking a knife in her belt. Certain ways she moved reminded Hoffman of Amanda. The hostility towards weapons, the jerky movements of frustration, but underneath, Alice and Amanda were more different than the moon and the sun. Alice's movements were fluid, born of purpose and passion. Amanda had walked in a permanent sulk, dreading each step.

Hoffman moved towards the door, attempting to hide his limp. He hated the way Alice looked at him. Sympathy, concern, slight amusement; it was demeaning and she knew it. Alice followed, allowing him to lock the door behind them. Hoffman's apartment had been quarantined, so they spent their nights at Alice's old apartment. Their days were spent working in the workshop. Alice took up a day job at a medical clinic, scheduling patients, to pay the bills.

They spoke little of the subject in the car. Alice's hands were resting in her lap, head tilted so Hoffman could only catch her profile. She pursed her lips. Tell tale scars ran the length of her arm. After some reconstructions, her arm looked less like it had come from a Frankenstein movie. The acid had burnt away most of the skin, but they had paid for skin grafts. Full movement was still limited, but she was working on it. When they were in bed, Hoffman would trace the scars across her stomach with the tip of his finger. They reminded of her of not only pain, but also redemption. Being reborn. Unlike other test subjects, Alice was tested twice. The scars faded, but the memories remained fresh in her mind.

They pulled up to the workshop. Tapp met them outside. He motioned for them to follow, and Alice joined his side. Hoffman stayed back slightly. He had learned in the past years not to truly trust anyone.

"Brad drugged him, and he's set up in the back. Should we prepare the test?"

Alice nodded, digging out her sketches from her back pocket. Showing them to Tapp, they got to work.

* * *

Gavin's eyes fluttered open, moaning slightly due to the drug. He moved his arms underneath him, attempting to sit up. He couldn't move properly. Eyes became wider as Gavin searched for what was hindering him. His legs were strapped firmly onto the table beneath him. What scared him more than his detainment was the large stone roller positioned inches away from his feet.

"Oh my God… fuck… HELP!" He cried, trying to pry the chains apart with his hands. It was no use. He noticed that above him there was a length of rope. On that rope, a tape recorder hung. With some effort, he moved around the chains and grabbed the recorder. With shaky hands, he pressed play.

_Hello Gavin._

Gavin's ears perked. He had heard of the Jigsaw murders (who hadn't), but this voice couldn't belong to Jigsaw. It was female.

_You have spent your life taking advantage of others you deem weaker than yourself. But are you really what you seem? Strength is not just in the number of thrusts you can manage in a couple of minutes. Strength is will power. Today, we will test yours._

_ I want to play a game._

"Fuck you."

_You have one minute to escape your bonds. The rope above you has a noose side which you may have noticed. Loop your hand through the noose to drag yourself out of the way of the roller. If you can't drag yourself out of the way before the timer hits zero, your legs will be crushed, each bone splintering under the pressure. Are you strong enough to survive or will you die like the cretin you are?_

_ Live or die, Gavin. _

_ Make your choice._

Gavin screamed as the timer started. Ever so slowly, the stone roller inched forward. He quickly tied his hand up in the noose, dropping the recorder to the ground. Grunting, he began to pull. The chains, loath to move, grinded against the ground. His legs screamed in pain against the stress. He stopped, breathing hard.

"Fuck!"

0.30

Gavin hauled himself up again. The roller was nearing his feet. He could almost feel it. He pulled and pulled, chains dragging slowly behind him. A new confidence sprang into his eyes. He could do this. He could make it! With one last tug, he was almost out of the way from the roller…

His hand slipped.

Gavin collapsed back onto the hard table. Air flew from his lungs. Dread traced his features, followed by agony as the stone roller began to roll over his feet.

"NO!" Gavin screamed. He groped for the rope, but it was yanked out of reach. Slowly, the stone roller began to crush his legs, creeping up. Gavin's screams continued until the roller rolled over his chest, crushing his lungs and heart. Blood dripped from the table, plopping onto the ground in droplets. He collapsed, gurgling. The roller rolled over his throat and he was completely silenced. His crushed body was bloody, bones sticking up from the puddle of flesh.

_Game over._

* * *

"He failed."

Hoffman crossed his arms. "You owe my ten bucks."

Alice rolled her eyes, pulling a ten dollar bill out of her pocket. "Buy yourself something nice."

"Maybe if you would just listen to me…"

Alice huffed, pointing an accusing finger in his face. "Maybe if you would actually talk to me instead of in riddles!" She turned away, stalking toward the door. "Michael, Ryan, dispose of the body and evidence. Brad, get the tape recorder. Don't waste what can be used again." With another huff, she left the room, followed by Tapp and Ryan. Hoffman turned off the screen.

"You two always like this?"

Hoffman laughed, turning to Brad. "I tried to kill her the first time I met her. And she returned the favor. It's mutual."

"I've never seen you so… happy."

"Happiness has got nothing to do with it." Hoffman's scowl returned. With a grunt, he seated himself across from the door and waited. Brad left him alone. Hoffman fiddled with a piece of the case file. His eyes scanned over the words. He hadn't taken time to read it. His gaze caught on a single name.

"It… oh shit."

_Relative of Peter Strahm. _

* * *

Please, please, please R&R. I know I haven't been writing much lately. Exams and such. Sigh. Thanks and DFTBA.

SMH


	2. Chapter 2

It took me awhile to update this, but I need to give credit to an amazing person. TaylorSwiftFearless has written with me in a RP forum for a few months. It's quite entertaining! With her permission, I am integrating two characters into this story. Meet Johnny Strahm and Taylor Hoffman. Haha. Alice has some surprise in her wake. For background info or just a basic storyline, visit our SAW Role-play forum. The story is a bit changed due to obvious circumstances.

I don't own SAW.

Generations

Johnny Strahm rolled over onto his back. He could barely open his eyes. His head pounded, hangover setting in. Moaning, he sat up, cradling his head in his hand. His alarm clock throbbed red. 3:25. Far too early. Johnny pulled himself out of bed, wincing as his heels hit the floor.

He managed to get to the kitchen before he had to sit down. He collapsed onto one of the wooden chairs, fingers held to his temple. Fuck, it hurt. He dry swallowed some aspirin. He was just about to return to bed when his cell rang.

"Hey…" he moaned.

"You sound like shit."

"Feel like shit." Johnny leaned against the wall. "What's up?"

"They found Gavin's body."

Johnny dropped the phone. "This… this quickly?"

"Yes."

Johnny fumbled around in his pockets. He dug out his watch. The date… March 13th. "It's almost time. The first step has passed. Call him." Johnny hung up the phone. "Fuckin' headaches…"

* * *

Alice propped her head onto the pillow with her elbow. "You're sure? Peter said he didn't have relatives." After clearing out the trap, Alice and Hoffman had returned home. Hoffman turned on his side, mirroring her movements.

"Positive. The boys haven't failed me before. Well…" Hoffman grimaced. He absentmindedly scratched at his scar. Alice frowned, swatting his hand away.

"Don't."

"It's my own fucking face."

Alice captured his mouth in a quick kiss. "Then I'll just have to borrow it."

Hoffman moaned into her mouth. But it was soon over. Way too soon. "What's wrong?" He tilted his head slightly.

"I'm worried. What if Strahm has more connections than you thought?"

"Alice, Strahm is dead…"

"I know!" Alice flipped onto her back, crossing her arms. "I know."

Hoffman stared at the ceiling. Shapes began to trace their way. Ever since the bathroom, he was prone to strange dreams and hallucinations. Like ghosts wandering hallways. Or shapes in the cracking ceiling. Pissed him off more than anything, for they liked to talk back.

Alice's phone buzzed on the side table, startling her. Swearing, she flipped open her cell. "Hello?" Hoffman watched her. Her face contorted with irritation. "What do you mean the game's no longer possible?" Hoffman sat up, gesturing for her to give him the phone. She shook her head, holding up a dismissive palm. "Did you talk to Michael? No?" Alice sighed, climbing out of bed. "We'll be there in a minute. Call Michael. And get your lazy ass in the Workshop before I put you in another trap!" She closed her phone, sighing.

"What's happened?"

"Police interference. We'll need to move out by tomorrow morning. They're re-searching Gideon tomorrow. Especially since you're still technically a fugitive. They didn't deem you as dead."

"Would have saved us a shit-load of trouble." Hoffman huffed. "How's your arm?" Alice flexed the muscles, opening and closing her fist. The only visible difficulty was the pained look that crossed her face. "Good. Keep moving it."

"When did you become a Doctor?"

"Comes with the job."

"Which one?" Alice pulled a tee over her head. "I hope that the boys started in on the packing."

"We're just one big fucking family, aren't we?"

Alice laughed. "Yeah, but Brad and Ryan are yours."

* * *

Brad folded up the papers neatly, stuffing them into separate folders. Ryan was clearing out old traps, throwing several into piles to burn. After Mark had burned down his own center of operations, Alice had relied entirely on Gideon. Everything that wasn't taken by the police or burnt from Hoffman's rage was saved and set up to her liking.

"Keep?" Ryan held up a twisted head trap, ruined far beyond repair.

"Nah."

Tapp appeared at the door, wearing street clothes. "Will you two hurry the fuck up? You have two hours." Brad flipped him off, tossing the files into a brown box. "Alice wants this done ASAP."

"That I do." Alice squeezed past Tapp, clapping her hands together. "Alright. All files can be put in my car. All traps go to Michael's." Ryan exchanged a look with Brad before filling their arms with boxes. Hoffman was close behind as always, but this time, he held a gallon of gasoline. "Anything else? Any mementos?"

Michael rolled his eyes, disappearing after the younger two. Hoffman chuckled darkly, handing her the gasoline. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the liquid flying over the old evidence. All the old drawings and traps. After she was satisfied, Alice tossed the gallon container into the darkness. Hoffman flicked open a lighter.

"Honors?"

"Love to." Alice lit the lighter, tossing it into the workshop. The two turned as the fire spread. They met the others outside.

Ryan closed the back of her car. The fire was already growing inside the old building. Burning, sizzling in the evening cold. It smelt faintly of burnt marshamallows. Calm, yet alarming. The glow cast shadows. Alice caught herself staring at Hoffman who was staring into the burning building. Firelight danced around his face, illuminating his eyes. For a few moments, they looked almost black. But as he turned, they returned to their blue, cool despite the heat emanating from the fire.

"We'll move everything to the storage facility. John bought a container years ago, but it's still in good use." Hoffman pointed out.

"I'll meet you there. I just… want to say goodbye to the old place." Alice patted him on the shoulder. Hoffman nodded. The four males left, headed towards the storage place, but Alice waited a few extra minutes to make sure of their absence. She peered into the fire, fidgeting. Tears began to run down her cheeks. "Eric, am I evil?"

The flames climbed higher into the sky.

Alice dropped to her knees. She wasn't strong. She couldn't do this. Not alone. _You're not entirely alone, _she thought. Hoffman wanted this to stop. She knew he was over it. Ryan and Brad had been through enough. Only Michael was even willing to help her.

She heard the sirens, but barely moved. It wasn't until she heard voices that she ran to her own car. They couldn't find her. She wiped the last bit of helplessness from her eyes and drove off to join Hoffman.

* * *

I know it was short. And the intro to Johnny was a bit confusing… but you should tune in. There'll be more. Promise. BWAHAHAHA!

SMH


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! I'm back again. You'd think you would get sick of me… Meh

I don't own SAW. (If I did, I would be a couple billion richer.)

Surprises Are Not Appreciated

Alice drove up to the storage facility, wiping tears from her eyes. She adjusted herself in the mirror, running a hand through her short hair. Closing the door, she approached the boys, backs turned. She brushed her hands over Hoffman's shoulder. The ex-detective stiffened, turning on his heels. His expression softened only in Alice's eyes.

"You've been crying…" he whispered. Alice leaned into his comfortable embrace, but quickly separated as Tapp and the boys exited the unit. "That's everything except the files." Hoffman squeezed the bridge of his nose, wincing. "Jesus."

Tapp automatically produced a pill bottle from his jeans. "Ibuprofen, lessen the pain." Hoffman thanked him, taking the pills. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to subside. Alice greeted the other two, handing each of them an envelope.

"Thanks guys. I'll be in touch. We'll keep a low profile for awhile." Alice dismissed them. Ryan nodded, but Brad tilted his head, watching her. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Brad shrugged. The two disappeared into the darkness, waving farewell to the office window. Tapp grabbed the boxes of files, plopping them onto the floor of the unit. "Call if you need anything else." Tapp patted Alice on the back, following Brad and Ryan. Alice feigned a smile until he left. Hoffman caught her as she felt her knees go weak again.

"I don't have to continue, right?"

Hoffman threw her arm over his shoulder, shrugging her over him. "That's up to you, Alice."

"Mark, I don't think I can."

"Then don't."

He helped her into the car, getting into the driver's seat. They drove in silence until they reached their apartment. Alice allowed Hoffman to lift her from the seat, carrying her inside. He laid her down on the bed, climbing in next to her. The window was open, and the cool night air penetrated the bedroom. Hoffman sighed in relief, throwing off his coat. Alice curled next to him, cuddling into the crook of his arm.

"Can we just stay like this?"

"Hm?"

"Can we stay here in bed forever?"

"Don't think so." Hoffman looped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. "But I wish." Alice tilted her head up. He kissed her softly, silently begging her to tell him what was wrong. But Alice didn't speak, simply returned the kiss. Hoffman broke away, startled slightly by the fresh tears. "Alice?"

"It reminded me… of…" Alice hid her face in Hoffman's side, choking back sobs.

"Hey…" he wrapped his arms around her. "You'll be alright…"

"Fuck, Mark! I kill people!" Alice's shoulders shook.

"Alice, you've got to be strong for me, baby. Come on…" Hoffman tangled his hands in her hair, drawing her into a deeper embrace. "We're alright. Together. Nothing's going to happen to us."

Alice nodded, sniffling against his chest. It was a damn good thing that he was warm. Hoffman kissed her hair until he felt her breathing shallow. He looked down at his chest with Alice now calmly sleeping against him. He kissed the top of her head before letting himself drift into sleep.

* * *

Johnny awoke to a crash. He pulled himself out of bed, forcing himself to wake up. He started as a figure popped out from behind the couch. "Jesus Christ!"

"Nice to see you too," the figure scoffed. Johnny smiled, opening his arms. Taylor ran into him, forcing him against the wall with a harsh hug.

"When did you get in town?"

"Couple hours ago." Taylor planted a kiss on his lips. "Thought I'd come over."

"Mmm…" Johnny switched positions, nuzzling her neck. Taylor laughed, trying to push him off. "God, I've missed you." He pressed against the wall, trapping her.

"Is everything in place?"

"What?" Johnny had begun to unbutton her top. Taylor smacked his hand away.

"Is everything ready?"

Johnny sobered immediately. "Yeah." He released her, sitting down on the edge of the sofa. "I'm not particularly proud about this, you know." He folded his arms across his chest.

"I noticed." Taylor picked up an empty beer bottle, tossing it towards the kitchen. She tossed her hair behind her, perching on the opposite end of the couch. "But this needs to be done. For me. For mom." Her eyes glossed over with a lost kind of sorrow. She blinked back tears. Johnny placed a knowing hand on her knee, leaning over onto the couch. He caught her mouth in a rough kiss, pulling her over him.

"I'll take care of you, Tay."

Taylor grinned against him. They met eyes. Johnny nearly melted. What he would do for those big blue eyes…

* * *

Hoffman woke up to a strange absence. Alice! He sat up quickly, head spinning. He jumped off his bed. It was still dark. They must have only caught a couple of hours. Where was she? The apartment was silent, save for the movement of a train a mile away. Hoffman slid off the bed, wincing as he hit the floor too hard. "Alice? You alright?"

No answer.

Hoffman began to panic. He raced into the living room, whipping his head from side to side. "Alice!"

"Mark…"

Hoffman spun around, backing into the wall. "Leave me the fuck alone!" He placed his hands against his temple, pushing as hard as he could. Wasn't real… wasn't real… John smacked his hands away, pressing a knife to his throat. Hoffman drew back, smacking his head hard against the wall. His vision blurred, blinking out John. But once he could see again, John had forced him to his knees, knife already cutting into the soft flesh of his throat. "You… you're just in… in my head… I fucking know!"

"Who says you're not in your head?" John whispered. His voice was riddled with disease, croaking with a harsh hatred. "I've got you now, Mark, and I want to play a game."

"Fuck you!"

Then he saw her. Alice was slumped against the opposite wall. A long slit separated her throat, blood still dripping. Her eyes were open in horror, staring at Hoffman with accusing eyes.

"No…"

He felt the cold metal slice through his throat, red, warm liquid pooling at his feet.

Hoffman woke with a cry, holding his head in his hands. Alice leapt awake, separating from his embrace. Hoffman was the one crying now. He wouldn't admit to it when Alice asked, so she just laid her head against his arm, hoping to give some comfort. The man's sobs accompanied his fingers as they gripped his hair roughly. Alice was surprised to see that he didn't start bleeding from the amount of pressure.

"Mark?"

Hoffman looked up, rubbing his discomfort from his eyes. "What?"

"You want to talk about it."

"No." Hoffman bowed his head. Alice reached up, planting a quick kiss on his jaw. Hoffman faced her, smiling. "Thanks."

"Yeah, don't expect it to happen all the time." Hoffman tried to kiss her back, but Alice had wriggled out of bed to make her point. "I'm making coffee."

"Right. Can I get it after coffee?" There was a twinkle in his eye, beyond the redness of sorrow.

"We'll see." Someone knocked loudly on their apartment door. "I got it." Alice opened the door, shedding light on the dark hallway. Hoffman couldn't see anyone, leaving the bed. He stretched, arching his back. "Hello?"

"Hi! I'm looking for Silas Morrison?"

Hoffman paused before he recognized the name. It was one of his aliases. Alice looked back at him, allowing him view of the speaker. It was a young girl with long blonde hair, falling down to mid-back. She stared at him with a familiar set of blue eyes. Where had he seen them before? He couldn't place it.

"That's me. Come on in." Hoffman waved towards Alice. She stepped aside as the girl shuffled into the small apartment. Alice slid off the girl's coat, checking for weapons. The girl didn't say anything until Alice was standing next to Hoffman. "Who are you?"

"My name is Taylor." She chirped. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Why's that?"

"Because I know who you are, Detective Hoffman and Special Agent Thompson." Taylor smiled. Alice struck out, knocking her to the ground. Taylor tried to scream, but Alice placed a hand over her mouth. Hoffman folded his arms, watching the fight play out. Taylor kicked desperately at Alice, trying to get the upper hand, but Alice pinned her in no time.

"Why are you here?" Alice's voice dropped into a harsh whisper. "Who the fuck are you?"

Taylor coughed under the strain. "I'm not going to hurt you! Or expose you! I can't do that." She met Mark's eye. "Don't you remember her? My mother?"

"What are you talking about?" Hoffman queried. Those eyes… he knew them…

"You're… you're my father."

* * *

Hehe… yeah. So…. Please R&R and I might do another chapter by the end of the week. Maybe.

SMH


	4. Chapter 4

I'm going to say this over and over again, but I need to give credit to the amazing, absolutely brilliant TaylorSwiftFearless. She has been my SAW buddy for a while now. Taylor was entirely her idea. As was Olivia. And the entire back-story. Look her up. She has some awesome stories!

I also don't own SAW. Unfortunately…

Pacing

Alice pressed her forearm against Taylor's throat. "You're lying!" She looked up, expecting Hoffman to agree with her. Hoffman stared at Taylor, eyebrows slightly raised. Beyond that, he was stone, face stuck in a neutral position. "Mark! Tell her!" But Hoffman only crossed his arms.

"How old are you?"

"Mark…"

"I was talking to the girl," he snapped. Alice pursed her lips, but released Taylor's torso. "How old are you?"

"Twenty," Taylor rasped. She lifted her head slightly from the floor, glaring at Alice. Hoffman looked up, recounting things that Alice couldn't even imagine. "My mom… you met her at a bar after the death of your sister. Angelina, was it?"

"Come on, Mark. You can't seriously believe her…"

"Shut up." Hoffman crossed his arms, a dark understanding crossing over his blue orbs. "Twenty years ago… What's your mother's name?"

"Olivia Young."

Hoffman's eyes widened only slightly. Alice felt a tug in her stomach. Jealousy? Disbelief? It's not like she was his first, but still. She crawled off of Taylor, flopping down on the couch. Taylor stood, straightening her blouse and regretting her decision to wear a skirt. She approached Hoffman, staring up at him.

"Please. She told me to look for Mark Hoffman."

"Where is she?"

"She's dead." Taylor spoke with little emotion. Alice noted that both of them shared this trait. "She asked me to find you."

Hoffman nodded, rubbing his palm over his scar. "How'd you manage that?"

Taylor gestured to the television. "News reports mostly. I know who you are, but I had to find you. I…" She looked down. "I want to help you."

"No." Hoffman and Alice said in unison.

"But…"

"Thank you, but no." Hoffman lightly grabbed her arm, forcing her towards the door. "Now get out. If you say anything to anyone, I'll fucking kill you." Taylor jerked around, bringing her open palm across his face. Hoffman's head snapped to the side, an angry red welt beginning to form. Alice shot out of her seat. Before Hoffman could retaliate, Alice opened the door and shoved Taylor out of the door.

"Leave us the fuck alone."

"You think it's over!" Taylor shouted back at Hoffman. "You think the games will end! You're wrong. He has one more thing to ensure your death, Mark Hoffman. Whether you're my fucking father or not." Alice flipped her off and slammed the door. She crossed her arms, hitting her back hard against the door.

"Bitch…"

Hoffman sank onto the couch, staring at nothing. Olivia Young. He recognized the name. Did he really? It was twenty years ago. Alice joined him on the couch, curling up against him. But he remained still and stiff.

"Don't let her get to you."

"She's my daughter, Alice."

Alice sighed, pressing against him. "Come off it."

Hoffman stood up, separating roughly from her. "I can't." He began to pace, hands wrung out in front of him. "I told her I fucking loved her… and then I left. Just like that. After Angelina's death, everything went to Hell. Couldn't even sleep with a woman for more than one night…" Hoffman slammed a fist against the wall. Alice jumped slightly at his outburst, but said nothing. "Enough to get her fucking pregnant!"

"Mark, it was a mistake. It happens to the best of us, but we have to let that go!"

"Don't fucking talk to me about letting go! You haven't even got over your fucking brother!" Hoffman turned on his heels. The rage that had been suppressed for so long resurfaced. Alice's own anger climaxed, sending her into a rampage.

"Don't you dare talk about him!" she screamed. "I was the one who rescued you from that fucking bathroom and you treat me like this? Fuck you, Mark Hoffman. Fuck you!" She yelped in surprise as Hoffman struck her across the face. Alice fell to the ground, covering her face in her hands. "F… fuck you."

"_Shut up_!" Hoffman bellowed. He finally settled a bit. Alice crawled into a corner, hands protecting her face. Her shoulders shook as she tried to repress sobs. Hoffman pulled back, eyes wide in horror. "Oh fuck, Alice!" He bent down, trying to reach for her. Alice slammed a foot against his chest, dislodging him from her.

"Leave me the fuck alone!"

"Alice… I didn't…" Hoffman fumbled, but he backed away. Alice sobbed silently, pressing harder against the wall. "Fuck…" Hoffman paced furiously, hand tangled roughly in his hair. He stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door in frustration.

Alice looked up through a sheet of tears. "Mark…" She stood, retiring to their bedroom. She climbed into bed, covering herself with the comfortable blankets. That smelled like him. This was their first fight. It was bound to happen eventually. Alice cried herself to sleep, gripping Hoffman's pillow in her shaking fists.

Hoffman bent over the sink, breathing as slowly as he could. Anger still bubbled in his throat, yelling curses into his head. He had hurt her. Again. It had been over a year since Hoffman had first dealt with Alice. He remembered the pain he inflicted and it gnawed away at him. He promised himself that it would never happen again. He remembered everything he had done, all flooding back from Seth Baxter to his latest act of cruelty. He was a monster.

Hoffman fell to his knees, retching.

He couldn't do this.

* * *

Johnny rocked back and forth on his heels, knocking once more on the door. He looked around, leaning slightly to on side of the doorframe. Finally, the door swung open, revealing a disgruntled looking maid.

"Yes?"

"I have an appointment."

"Come on up." The maid stepped back, motioning toward a flight of stairs. The entire house was dark, old and musty. The maid closed the door quietly behind them. She then climbed the stairs quickly, leaving Johnny behind. Noticing the absence, Johnny eventually followed. "No sudden movements. And don't mention anything about his wife, alright?"

"Yes, mam." Johnny smiled. There was a long hallway at the top of the stairs. Johnny veered left. He knocked on the second door, tracking the maid as she hurried back down the stairs. The door opened a crack.

"What?"

"I have an appointment. I called earlier. I'm Johnny Strahm." Johnny placed a hand on the door, aiding the occupant with opening the door. The man stepped back, turning his back to Johnny. "I wanted to talk to you about a… recent development that you might want to be a part of."

"And why would you think that?" The man's voice was harsh, gravelly. It sounded like he had screamed every day since the incident. His hair had grown out, falling down the sides of his face messily. He was growing a beard, unkempt. He sat across from Johnny on a single wooden chair. "I don't want to go back."

Johnny kneeled next to the man. "We can fix this."

"Can you bring her back?"

Johnny flinched. "No, but…"

"Then I don't fucking care." The man closed his eyes. "Leave me."

"Listen, I…"

"Leave me the fuck alone!"

The man shot out of his seat, running to the window. He nearly collapsed at the frame. He tried to hide the tears that began to trace the curves of his face. Over and over again, he smacked his forehead with his palm, trying to erase the arising images. Johnny snuck behind him, latching onto the man's arms. Johnny yanked him from the frame, forcing him to look at him.

"Mr. Dagan, we need your help. We've found the man who killed your wife."

Bobby Dagan bowed his head, fists clenched, knuckles white. "But… he's dead, isn't he?" His voice came out a whisper.

"He escaped apparently. Listen," Johnny guided Bobby back to his chair, seating him. "Hoffman killed my father. Not just kill. He butchered him and then blamed the Jigsaw murderers on him. I hate him. I just want a little justice. He burned your wife to death!" Bobby winced, folding his arms over his chest. "Don't you want him to suffer?"

Bobby didn't speak. His eyes traveled to a picture frame dangling off the wall opposite him. It was the last picture of _her_. Joyce. His wife. It was a picture of the two of them, smiling. Bobby's arm was draped over Joyce's shoulder, her right hand pressed against his chest. It had been paradise. It was all a lie. Bobby nodded slowly.

"What do you need me to do?"

* * *

Quick update, but I felt like Bobby Dagan should at least try to get some justice. I've always loved Sean Patrick Flanery! Anyway, lots of fun coming up. Please, please, please check out TaylorSwiftFearless for me. You won't regret it. R&R, por favor. As is the saying, it feeds the muse!

SMH


	5. Chapter 5

It was really hard to write the fight between Alice and Mark, but you know… it goes on…

I don't own SAW.

Initiate

Alice rolled over, hand groping at the empty pillow beside her. Groaning, she sat up, flicking on the lamp next to her. Nothing. No familiar figure bent at the edge of the bed. No sign of life past her shallow breathing. Alice pulled herself out of bed, carefully grazing the tip of her cheek with a fingernail. A bruise had formed where he had struck her. Alice padded down the hallway, stopping in front of the bathroom. The door was still closed.

"Mark?" she tapped lightly on the door. Nothing. "Mark." No answer. Alice reached down and tugged open the door, expecting the worst. It was far from her mind's eye. Hoffman was snoring lightly, propped up between the toilet and the wall. His hair was tousled, tufts nearly covering his eyes. "Mark…" Alice placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. With a snort, he jerked awake.

"Wha…?" Realizing it was Alice, Hoffman scrambled back, smacking hard against the glass of the shower door. His boots tangled with the mats, making his route more troublesome. "Fuck!" A hand flew to the back of his head, moaning slightly. "Alice… please… I didn't mean to hurt you…" His blue eyes were focused entirely on her growing bruise.

"Mark, I'm fine." Alice reached out an innocent hand. "Please. I don't blame you. Things got out of hand." Hoffman stared at it critically, forehead wrinkling with frustration. Finally, he took it gently in his hand and let Alice help him to his feet. Hoffman met her eyes poignantly. He grazed the side of his finger over the bruise, pulling back as she flinched. Alice grabbed his hand, squeezing it slightly. "Mark, I promise you, I'm okay. I've been through worse."

"I wasn't supposed to…" Hoffman led off, but he was silenced with a kiss. Desperate lips pressed against his. Alice slung her arms around his neck, bringing him closer. Hoffman moaned slightly, shifting his hands onto her waist. After a few tense moments, Alice separated, brushing a tuft of dark hair from his eyes.

"I will always love you, Mark. Don't you fucking forget that." Alice playfully slapped him on the cheek. "I'm making some coffee." She left him in the bathroom, skidding into the kitchen of the apartment. Hoffman ran a hand over his scar, furrowing his brow once more. He was probably the luckiest man in the world. That or the stupidest. "Want some?" she yelled from the kitchen.

"Yeah!" Hoffman exited the bathroom, tugging gently on the fabric of his shirt. She couldn't see. Not now. He threw the knife into the trash, covering it with paper. She wouldn't take it very well. Hoffman smiled at her as he entered the kitchen. Alice handed him a steaming mug and a piece of parchment paper.

"Let's get working."

* * *

Bobby Dagan brought his knees up to his chest. The others spoke in hushed tones, voices he couldn't recognize. The room was dim, the only light source radiating from a lamp in the corner. As people walked, the entire floor creaked. Bobby rested his forehead on the tops of his knees. Why had he agreed to this? Everything, fucking everything reminded him of the tests. Of losing his best friend and his wife. Bobby shuddered slightly.

"Y'all right?" a soft voice spoke into his ear. Bobby jumped five feet in the air, legs flailing. The owner of the voice dodged him. "Sorry! Jumpy, are we?"

"N… no, just me," Bobby laughed nervously. "I'm sorry." He began to shake silently. "Dammit, I was… doing alright." He clenched one weakened fist, forcing the shaking to stop. Isn't that what his therapist told him? He was in control of his life. Nothing could stop him from behaving like a normal person again. "I'm Robert D… Dagan."

"Pleasure to meet you," laughed the figure. Bobby's eyes adjusted, focusing in on the person. "Taylor Young." The female, apparently, shook his hand without hesitation. She had long blonde hair falling down mid-back. She had sharp blue eyes that expanded and contracted constantly with emotion. Taylor wore a tight black dress adorned with matching heels. She arched an eyebrow, catching him staring at her. "Yes?"

"Sorry," he automatically spat. Taylor laughed, patting him gently on his shoulder.

"I forgive you, Mr. Dagan." Taylor sat down beside him, smoothing her dress over her legs. Bobby pressed his feet to the ground, stiffening as everyone began to take a seat. He kept his head bowed, unwilling to meet the eyes of the others. At least he didn't look as mangy anymore. Even after the traumatic experience with the scissors.

A familiar face (Johnny, was it?) stood, walking into the center of the room. "Hello, everyone. I hope you're all comfortable." Johnny met Bobby's gaze which was quickly dropped. "Tomorrow, as you know, is March 15th. And appropriately, we have some unfinished business to attend to."

"And what would that be?" Bobby's gaze shifted over to a pair of disgruntled police officers. He blanched and brought his knees back to his chest. An older looking policeman scrunched up his face, crossing his arms. The woman had her lips drawn together in a tight line. Maybe not police for her. FBI?

"Detective Lieutenant Mark Hoffman."

Bobby started to shake again. Memories drifted back into his mind's eye. One after one, his 'family' died before his eyes. And he could have prevented that. Could have prevented everything. But he was such a fucking liar…

"He's dead," whispered the female officer.

"He escaped."

The male officer shot out of his seat, pointing an accusing finger at Johnny. "Don't get me wrong, Johnny. I trusted your father, but I am not so willing to trust you. I came here simply because you asked, but if it has to do with Jigsaw, I'm fucking retired." Johnny approached him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Andrew, please…"

"Johnny, I have no part in all this."

"Weren't you Hoffman's partner at one time?"

Silence filled the room. Andrew Fisk's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "Yes, I was."

"Don't you want him to finally be brought to justice?"

Fisk nodded, returning to his seat. Johnny swung around. "Is there anyone else who is against this justice?" No voices rang out. Bobby mentally counted to be sure. Six in the circle and Johnny in the center. "Does anybody feel that this man deserves anything better than death?" A dark-skinned woman in scrubs lowered her head. A woman beside her, blonde and rather skinny, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mark Hoffman killed my father. Blamed the entirety of the Jigsaw murders on him. It is a damn good thing that they learned of his treachery. My father was a good man. And Hoffman destroyed that." Johnny paused, tangling one hand into his hair.

"He killed Lynn Denlon, my closest friend…" whispered the dark-skinned woman.

"He fucking corrupted my husband. Tore him from our family," the blonde woman hissed. Her back straightened to rod-straight, hands folded neatly into her lap. It completely contradicted her poisonous tongue.

"Do we need a reason? He killed dozens of people. An entire police department!" Fisk gesticulated wildly, his fellow officer nodding quickly.

Taylor stood up, a new fire in her eyes. "He fucked my mother and left her to fend for herself with child on the way. He may be… my father, but there is no love in my heart to give to that selfish bastard." Bobby looked up at her.

"I was… tested." The words came out cracked, voice pitching slightly. "He killed everyone."

Johnny returned to his soapbox, slamming his foot down. "He will suffer for this!"

"What are you planning to do?"

Taylor smiled wickedly, stalking to Johnny's side. "We're going to give him one final test. And we need your help." Bobby cringed as Taylor's arm snuck around Johnny's waist. "What do you say?"

"I'm in," growled the blonde.

"Me too," the dark-skinned woman looked up, eyes glittering with tears.

"You have us." Fisk spoke for his partner.

Everyone turned, looking at Bobby expectantly. Bobby stood, fists clenched together and head slightly bowed.

"You expect me to use murder to silence a murderer?" Bobby mumbled. "It won't bring them back. Suzanne, Nina, Cale… J… Joyce. They can't come back." Johnny's expression dropped. "But… he can't either. I'm in." Johnny clapped a hand to his back, nearly knocking down the weakened man.

"Thank you, Bobby. You won't regret this."

"I will." Bobby turned and walked away from the couple. Stepping into the hallway, he ran a shaky hand through his hair. It all seemed so easy. Hoffman would suffer for everything he had done. But was Bobby able to do it?

"I'm going to fucking regret this."

* * *

Sorry, I didn't update this sooner. Please R&R.

SMH


	6. Chapter 6

And I'm continuing… As always for your benefit.

I don't actually own SAW.

Pig

Alice continued sketching as Hoffman sipped at his coffee. She would tilt her head, catching his eyes only for a second. Hoffman turned his head away, hiding his face once more with the mug. Alice scowled, stabbing the paper a bit too hard. Hoffman placed a reassuring hand on her arm, but didn't help her with the designs.

"Maybe I should quit!" Alice crumpled up the paper in her hands, tossing it behind her back. She folded her arms on the table, burying her head into her shirt sleeves. The skin still stung slightly from the scars, but she didn't care. Hoffman set down his mug.

"I told you to do what's right."

Alice lifted her head, tear tracks visible down her cheeks. "I can't… how do I know what's right?"

"John wanted you to continue his legacy, but he's dead."

Alice ran a hand through her short brown hair, ruffling it. Thinking. Calculating. If she continued, she would eventually be found out. Hoffman was already a wanted man. If he was caught, he could face life or the death sentence. Alice wouldn't be able to bear it. Brad, Ryan, and Tapp all listened to her. Would they be willing to stop? They had burned all the old traps. All the old sketches. Everything, but Alice's own things. And Billy. What was it with that stupid doll?

Hoffman watched her carefully. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, promise her that everything would be okay. But he had hurt her. Nothing was going to change that. He was a monster. He needed to be controlled. But he wasn't willing to leave her should he be captured.

A phone rang, jerking them both back into reality. Hoffman dug into his pockets, flipping open the burn phone. "What?" Alice rubbed her cheeks, wiping away the tears. She had to be strong again.

"Who is it?"

"Tapp."

Alice rolled her eyes. "What is it now?"

"It's Brad and Ryan."

"What about them?"

"They're dead. Thank you, Tapp. Get rid of any evidence as soon as you can." Hoffman closed the phone, confusion knit in his brow. "Who…?" But Alice just shook her head. Hoffman stood to leave, but Alice latched onto his middle, burrowing her head in his chest.

"Don't go. Not right now."

"Alice, I…" Hoffman started, hands hovering over her back. Alice nuzzled his shirt, shoulders shaking. "You're emotionally unstable… I need to figure out who killed Brad and Ryan…" Hoffman tried his best to wriggle out of her arms, but Alice held fast, whimpering.

"I couldn't sleep at all last night, you bastard." Her voice was muffled and riddled with sobs. Hoffman let his hands lay lightly on her back, resting his head on her shoulder. "I'm so sick of everything, Mark. People dying around me, you not being able to look at me… I'm sick of it all." Hoffman remembered John saying the same thing.

_Yes, I'm sick, officer. Sick from the disease eating away at me inside. Sick of people who don't appreciate their blessings. Sick of those who scoff at the suffering of others. I'm sick of it all_

"I don't want to hurt you, Alice. You're the first person I've truly cared about since Angelina," Hoffman whispered. He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "Give me some time to come to terms with myself." Alice nodded, sniffing into the cotton. "Shit, now I'm going to have to change!" he teased. The corners of Alice's mouth twitched upwards, but she didn't meet his gaze again.

"Let's go help Tapp."

* * *

Michael Tapp shot awake at the ring of his cell phone. He flipped it open, tangling himself deeper into the sheets.

"Hello?"

"I know who you are…" Dial tone. Tapp brought the phone from his ear. He redialed quickly. It rang for a bit, but eventually the line disconnected completely. Tapp shook his phone, but why he thought that would do any good, he didn't know. He jumped out of bed, tugging discarded jeans on. He needed to check on the warehouse.

The drive was short, but nerve racking. According to the guard, no one had entered since they closed at ten. It was now seven in the morning and it would open in a few minutes, give or take. Tapp navigated to their own locker, filled with the old boxes. That's when he noticed it. The door to the locker was partially open, only a couple inches from the ground. Tapp stuck his hand beneath it and yanked upwards. A cruel odor assaulted his nose. The ex-reporter covered his nose with the side of his hand, ducking in to turn on the light.

"Holy shit…"

* * *

Hoffman and Alice arrived at the locker around ten minutes later. Hoffman was wearing an old raincoat to help with blood stains. Alice peered underneath the locker, mouth hanging open slightly in disgust.

Both Brad and Ryan were strung up by hooks, dangling over the books of files, now tinted with blood. Their necks were broken, causing them to look sideways at Alice grotesquely. In either of the men's stomach, there was a bullet hole, drenched with blood. Their bodies were fresh enough for Alice to make certain deductions. Cause of death: bullet to the stomach. Aprox. Time of death: around midnight. She flinched under their watchful eyes.

"This is exactly how I found them…" Tapp sighed. "They were good kids. After their test, they had changed a lot."

"That didn't change this," Hoffman retorted. He bent over the files, thumbing through them. "Doesn't look like it's salvageable. Hold on…" Hoffman tipped over one of the boxes. Nothing spilled out of it. "Whoever killed Brad and Ryan stole from us." Alice picked through the other boxes. All the extra traps and files, beyond the ruined ones in the middle, were gone.

"Why would they want that? Evidence?"

"Makes no difference. We already have enough against us."

Alice nodded. "Michael, we're going to a new location. Clean up everything else. Leave the boys. It's better that the police deal with them. Mark and I will start packing. Meet you by the old pier at noon, alright?" The sun, long up, poked through the slats in the locker. "Make sure you reset their cameras on the way out." Tapp smiled back at her and left the locker.

"Do you really want to move?"

"Do we have a choice? Pack up, honey."

Alice left Hoffman in the locker, turning into the alley-like thing between the lockers. She hummed slightly to herself, trying to keep her mind off the bodies. Brad and Ryan were good kids. They never argued with her and were certainly not as rough as Hoffman. She felt the morning sun shine down on her, letting it soak into her skin.

March 15th.

The Ides of March.

Huh.

* * *

Hoffman nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the scream. "Alice?" he roared, running out of the locker. He turned off on the alleyway, spinning around madly. Where was she? He couldn't lose her. Not now. "Alice!"

"Mark!" A figure jumped out from behind him, locking its arms around his neck. Hoffman groaned, backing up against the wall. Much like a bronco, he bucked and twisted, trying to free himself. The figure held tight. Hoffman winced as he felt the cool needle enter the soft skin of his neck.

"No…" he moaned and sank to the ground. The figure got off of him. Hoffman reached towards the blurring shape, but he got a boot to the face. And then black.

* * *

Dun dun dunnnn… I am aware that it is a filler. That's the point.

Please R&R. It would make me really really happy. Reviews for the poor?

SMH


	7. Chapter 7

Many of you wondered what would happen next… isn't that why I write?

I don't own the SAW franchise.

Rebellion

Hoffman should have gotten used to this by now. Waking up, not knowing where he was, being chained to something. Unlike the subjects he had gathered, Hoffman never screamed. Never even tried to reason with his captor. Opening his eyes, he blinked back sleep and blood. There was a strange pain in the corner of his forehead, but he paid no attention to it. His eyes drifted down to his bonds, chains attached to his wrists. He pulled, twisted, testing their limits. Looking around, Hoffman assessed the situation.

The room was lit by a single oil lantern, flickering in the dimness of the room. There were three doors in front of him, a TV screen above. Hoffman rolled his head, hearing his neck crack painfully. Wincing, Hoffman pulled a little bit harder on his cuffs, activating the TV.

_Hello Mark. _

The TV showed a familiar looking young man. The jawline, the hair; all reminiscent of the agent that pissed Hoffman off to no end. He was an exact replica of Strahm, twenty years younger. The man stood back, admiring the camera. With a dark chuckle, he continued.

_Remember my father? Special Agent Peter Strahm was a good man. His death caused a string of events that destroyed any hope of catching men like you. Not only that, but you blamed him for everything after the death of Jigsaw. You named him the apprentice. How well did that hold, Mark? Erickson found out and you killed him. You took all of my family away from me, leaving me an orphan. Well, it's your turn to lose. I want to play a game. _

Hoffman stared at the man, unwavering. He'd survive. He always did.

_Before you are a number of tests that will take away the last shred of friendship you have left. If you survive. Should you survive, steps will be taken to ensure you're locked up for good. You first test consists of three choices. Two of the doors are loaded with shotgun rigs designed by John Kramer himself. Can you beat the master? Make your choice. Live or die._

"It's 'Make Your Choice' last, asshole," hissed Hoffman. The chains around his wrists clanked open. Hoffman stood, rubbing his wrists. He traversed the room to the first door. The peephole was clanked shut, the key on the side. "Clever…"

"Better than I?"

Hoffman startled, grabbing onto the door handle for support. Electricity shot through his arm. Hoffman yowled in pain, leaping back. "… the fuck, John?"

John Kramer crossed his arms, glancing at the doors. "Phew, maybe better than I. Bloodier than I. It's going to take some work to get out of this one, old friend."

"Old friend? You have never called me that before."

"Didn't trust you before."

Hoffman let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand to his temple. The pain was a slight gash across his forehead. Apparently, drugged Hoffman put up a fight. "What can I do to get out of here, John?"

"Use your head." John disappeared, leaving the ex-detective.

Hoffman began to pace, hands on top of his head. He breathed shallowly to keep down his heart rate. Use your head. Use your head. Hoffman growled, slamming a hand against the middle door. It clanked back. Hoffman froze. He hit a palm against it again. Another clank. Of course!

Hoffman traveled to the first door he tried. He slammed his palm against it. It clanked back loudly. Another voice startled him yet again.

"Good work, caveman."

"Mandy."

Amanda leaned against the last door, bringing her leg up to press against the door. She flipped her hair back behind her. She rapped on the door to a hollow wooden sound. "Got your door, asshole."

"Fuck you, Amanda." Hoffman pushed past her, planting a chaste kiss on the apparition's cheek. He turned the key, readying himself for the click. He flinched slightly as the door swung open. No apparatus. He breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his back against the door frame. Amanda rolled her eyes and disappeared.

The first test was simple. Like a video game. It would get harder.

Soon.

* * *

Alice moaned. Her mouth was dry and something not-so-pleasant invaded its space. She opened her eyes. There were a few figures sitting around her, watching. One figure sat rod straight. Another leaned against the wall. The last was hunched over and trembling slightly. Alice tried to move, but her hands were bound behind her back. The chair beneath her was rough, and Alice wanted nothing more than to get out.

"She… she's awake," stuttered a voice. The figure leaning against the wall crossed the room, lifting Alice's chin in her hand. Alice's vision cleared enough for her to see properly. It was that girl. Taylor, was it? Hoffman's daughter. Taylor reached behind Alice's head and tugged off what she assumed was a gag.

"Hi Alice."

"Where the fuck is he, Taylor?" Alice ordered. Her voice was low and dangerous. Taylor laughed, placing the gag atop Alice's knees.

"He's finally getting his proper test."

"Proper?" hissed Alice. The other two figures tensed quietly. The straight figure was a blonde woman with a sad look on her face. The other was a little more familiar. "You! Dagan, was it? Bobby Dagan. You survived, didn't you? What are you doing here? I interviewed you!"

Bobby's eyes shot wider. "A… Agent Thompson?" He looked panicked at Taylor. "You didn't tell me that she was with him!"

"She wasn't with him until after your test, Mr. Dagan," Taylor reassured him. Bobby nodded, but didn't break eye contact with Alice. Alice looked at him pleadingly, but was met with a sharp slap across the face. Alice hissed as the bruise spiked. "Did he do this to you, Alice?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Alice," Taylor forced the woman to look at her. "Did Hoffman do this to you? Answer me!"

"It isn't any of your business…"

Taylor turned to her companions. "Don't you see now? This is why he's in that test." Turning back to Alice, she hissed, "He told you he loved you, didn't he? He can't love, Alice. He's a monster. Every test he survives, the more drugs they will shoot into him on death row. Join us. Let him die."

"NO!" Alice screamed, slamming her head against Taylor's nose. She smiled slightly as she heard a crack. Taylor stumbled back, hand pressed against her nose.

"Fucking bitch!" Taylor screeched. She brought her hand against Alice's cheek. Alice's head cracked to the side, wincing. She refused to make any more noises. Taylor nodded to the blonde. The blonde woman leaned over Alice with a syringe.

"He destroyed my family. Please reconsider, Ms. Thompson." The blonde plunged the syringe into her neck. Alice tried to bite her, but the drug took hold and before long, she slumped into the chair.

* * *

Okay, I want to play my own game. You want more. I need five more reviews. Aaaaand go! Oh! And if you can figure out who the blonde is, brownies! Virtually.

SMH


	8. Chapter 8

It's been awhile. I'm sorry. So many other things to do, but I'm back!

I don't own SAW.

Not a Monster

Hoffman walked slowly down the blackened hallway, taking each step carefully. He had done enough traps with tripwires and sensors. Any wrong move could cause his death, or the death of another. His mind wandered to Alice. Was she even alive? A pain shot up through his abdomen, identifiable as grief. She couldn't be. Not after all they had gone through, together. It was so unlike Hoffman to make emotional ties, especially after the death of his sister. But after he became an apprentice, everything shifted. He began to slowly open up, despite his cool exterior. Never to Amanda, always to John. John understood what he was going through. Vengeance was a cold hole to fall into, a feeling born of hate and regret. Hoffman identified with John. They were both wronged men who simply wanted justice.

The world saw them as monsters.

Saw _him_ as a monster.

Hoffman paused, noticing light drifting through cracks in the wall. He watched his feet, but came closer to the opening. Using skilled hands, he found a switch, and the door opened. Hoffman was immediately on guard. It shouldn't have opened like that, without consequence. He searched the ground for a tripwire. Nothing. Hoffman snuck around the room, trying at the walls. As far as he could tell, it was just a room. That was until he found the pictures.

They were nearly hidden by the dust. Three crime scene photos. They were pictures of Angelina. Sweet Angelina who had met her end all too quickly. Hoffman knelt, picking up the photos. The white of her neck was stained with her blood, reminding him of that horrible day. He had warned her about Seth. He had. She disregarded him and was now dead. Seth was too, come to think of it.

He had flat out killed him.

Tortured him until the blade sliced through the first layer of skin and muscle.

Hoffman dropped the pictures.

_You're not a monster, Mark._

Hoffman's head shot up. He stumbled back when the figure appeared before him.

Angelina.

She looked just like she had before her death. She was smiling, brown hair tied back out of her face.

Hoffman fucking hated hallucinations.

"You're not a monster," she repeated.

"You're dead," he retorted.

Angelina sighed, shaking her head fondly. "Why are you always so stubborn?"

Hoffman smiled slightly, turning his head away from her. She was just an image. All he had to do is blink, and she'd be gone. Come to think of it, he should have done that to John and Amanda a long time ago. His scar began to sting. He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing.

"Listen, Mark," Angelina opened her mouth, but she paused. Walking to his side, she forced him to look at her. "If you call yourself a monster one more time in that fucking brain of yours, I'm going to make you have a heart attack." Hoffman snorted. But he touched her hand with his.

"Think about it, Angie. I'm a psychopath. I kill people!"

"You kill bad people."

Hoffman shrugged her off. "So what am I?! Some sort of deranged vigilante? I've seen the fucking movies! I'm nothing like that. I'm a serial killer!" Hoffman's eyes shot up to the ceiling. The glinting of a ceiling camera shone back at him. In response, he flipped it off. "Angie, I need you to leave. I'm winning this game, and I'm getting Alice out of here."

"You're not a monster."

"I fucking _know_!" Hoffman screamed at his apparition. When he turned around, she was gone. Nothing more but a figment of what was. Hoffman threw away the files, folding his arms over his chest. He was so done with this shit.

* * *

Alice came to again.

The room was empty, save for the glow of a computer screen. A figure was blocking some of the light, leaning over on an old wooden chair. It was Bobby Dagan. His face was drawn up in sad contemplation, running the tip of his thumb over his lips. His once spiky blonde hair was dulled with age and neglect. At least he had shaven. Alice didn't feel the gag, but her mouth was still quite dry.

"Can I get some water?" she croaked.

Bobby leapt about five feet in the air, spinning to face her. His sad eyes were wide with surprise. "S… sorry, what?"

"Water. Please?" Alice smiled, but her entire face ached from the blows taken earlier.

"S… sure…" he walked over to a water cooler, filling a cup with the precious liquid. He brought it over to Alice, gently tipping the cup at her lips. When she had trouble, Bobby guided her chin with one shaking hand. His hands were unusually soft. He wore a loose button up shirt. It was just open enough to see the scars that lined his chest. They were more defined then they were on TV before the incident. He caught her looking over the glass, turning red. "S… sorry…"

"Don't be. I'm sorry you got… involved in this," Alice tried to smile, but her head hurt too much. Bobby shrugged, taking the cup from her. He placed it shakily onto the table. "Why do you want to kill Mark Hoffman anyway?"

Bobby's head shot up, eyes darkened. "He killed my family, my friends. They're all dead because of him."

"Did you learn nothing?" her voice came out a whisper. "You were a liar, Bobby. You said you were redeemed when you weren't!"

"Shut up…" he whispered back.

"You lied! You are the bad guy here! Your family is dead because of your useless greed! How dare you take this out on Mark!" she yelled.

"That's enough!" it was a little bit louder now. Alice inwardly smirked. It was working.

"I wonder, if you hadn't done this, would Joyce still be alive!? You lied to her, Bobby! In the end, you were the cause of your own fucking death!"

"_Shut up!_" Bobby brought his hand hard against her face. Alice's head snapped to the right, moaning slightly. Bobby jumped back, eyes wide with what his anger had done. Alice shook her head, trying to regain her bearings.

"He's not the monster, Bobby. They are…" Alice tilted her head towards the computer screen. "Think."

Bobby looked back. Mark Hoffman was stumbling through the hallway, scanning the rooms before him. He was going to die. A bout of nausea overtook him. Clutching his stomach, Bobby turned away from the screen. He sighed, reaching behind Alice to untie her.

"Good, Bobby," she coaxed. "We're going to get out of here. I promise."

"I hope so."

* * *

Please R&R. I'm sorry it's been so long!

SMH


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own Saw

Trapped

Hoffman tripped over an overturned chair, hissing in pain. His ankle caught out from under him, lurching him forward. He managed to catch himself on the wall. Pain flared up his leg. He used the wall to guide him to the next door. He pulled on it experimentally. It cracked open. His eyes widened as the ticking became clearer. Hoffman dove to the side as a huge blade swung down where he was but a moment before.

"You think this is a game!? Coward!" he yelled, shaking his fist at a camera. He scowled as he maneuvered around the sharpened blade. The room was bathed in a cool light. Dread bubbled up in his stomach, but he pushed forward. Hoffman blinked, clearing his vision. A table was situated in the middle of the room. A large blade was right above it, inches from slicing the table in half. _Hello Seth_. Hoffman frowned deeply. "And how do you plan to get me on that table?"

A screen flickered to his left. A picture of Alice appeared. She was hunched over, unconscious. Behind her, a blonde (Ms. Gordon?) had placed the barrel of her gun in the center of Alice's head. Hoffman stiffened. A voice filtered from the ceiling.

_Hello Mark. Before you is a blast from the past. You brutally murdered Seth Baxter, starting your journey as a serial killer. If you want Alice to live much longer, you will go through the same horrors that you forced upon the others. You will strap yourself to the table and crush one of your hands. Pick wisely. The blade will fall in thirty seconds. If you fail, Alice will die and you will be cut in half. Make your choice._

Hoffman's head shot up toward a flashing timer. "Fuck." He picked his way across the room, breathing slowly. He placed his palms on the table, looking up at the blade. Tempered steel. Of course. He let out another sigh.

"What are you doing?!" Amanda appeared beside him, punching him quickly in the arm. "You can't do this!"

"Fuck off, Mandy," Hoffman gritted his teeth. He sat down at the edge of table, swinging his legs up over the restraints.

"Mark, you could die!"

"We all do it eventually."

Amanda tried to pull at his arm, but Hoffman brushed her away. "Mark, you can't decide on your life because of this… bitch!"

Hoffman ignored her. He laid down fully, pressing his neck into the restraints. They clicked into place, choking him slightly. Restraints snapped across his ankles, pressing him to the table. Amanda growled in frustration, pulling at them.

"You can't do this!"

"But I am." Mark looked side to side. Suddenly, the timer started. The blade was lifted from the table, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Hoffman sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. Amanda disappeared in a huff. He reached toward his side, feeling for the button. He felt around a device, checking for any breaks in the machine. Finding none, he placed a shaking hand into the mechanism. He wasn't scared, but pain was pain.

_15._

Time was ticking away. Sucking in a gasp of air, Hoffman plunged his hand towards the button. Ever so slowly, the block came down upon his hand. It pressed down, crushing his bones. Hoffman gritted his teeth, pressing his head to the table. Blood spurted from his left hand, making the machine slick. The blade swung closer. Hoffman screamed, kicking at his restraints.

_5_

"Fuck!"

The blade reached down enough to slice a shallow cut into his gut. Hoffman pressed the button harder. A clicking erupted from the machine, and the pendulum swung to a stop, lifting away from Hoffman's shaking body. Hoffman let out a relieved sigh, freeing himself from the restraints. He gently removed his hand and cradled it to his chest.

"Told you not to," Amanda sighed.

"Fuck…you…" Hoffman coughed.

* * *

Alice let Bobby lead the way through the dark hallways, tracing his steps carefully. He shuddered as he stepped over trip wires. Everything was silent. That was until the screams started. Alice's spine grew cold, tears prickling at the tips of her eyes. No. She ran forward, tears continuing to threaten.

"Mark!"

Bobby grabbed her arm, forcing her back. "No! There are wires!"

"I don't fucking care! Mark!" she cried out. Bobby wrapped his arms around her, holding her in place. Alice screamed at him, thumping him with her fist. Bobby winced, but held on. Alice kept screaming in tandem with Mark. Suddenly, the screaming stopped. Crying, Alice buried her head into Bobby's chest. Her fingers balled up the material, and her shoulders shook. Bobby hugged her to him, cherishing the feeling of a warm body pressed against him. It had been too long. He separated only enough to pull her short brown hair from her eyes. His fingers lingered on her bruise, a hurt look in his eyes.

"Did he really do this to you?"

"It's none of your concern," her voice broke. She wiped away her tears, pushing away from Bobby. "Let's go. If he's still alive…" she choked out a sob, "then we'll need a way out…" She ran ahead, eyes searching for tripwires and switches. Bobby stared after her, heart in his throat. He promised he wouldn't fall in love again. He promised Joyce. Then why the fuck was he acting like a horny teenager?

* * *

Hoffman collapsed forward, shock forcing him to his knees. He had made it out of the room, but his hand was practically useless. He had torn off a strip of his shirt, tying a sling with his teeth. But now the adrenaline was failing him, exhaustion teased at his consciousness.

"Come on, you mother fucker!"

Hoffman's eyes shot up. A shadowed figure stood not too far from him. Hoffman growled low in his throat. He raced towards the figure, energy replaced with anger. He mowed into him, forcing him to the wall. The figure grunted, voice deep. Male then. Hoffman dropped him to the floor, using one hand to silence his muffles. The man looked up at him with derision. Hoffman's eyes widened.

"Strahm?" He loosened his grip on the agent. Peter Strahm coughed, trying to pull away.

"Yeah. Who'd ya think it was?"

Hoffman frowned. "Why would I be hallucinating you?"

Strahm prodded Hoffman in the ribs. "Because you're a fucking pussy. You are going against my son, aren't ya?"Hoffman growled, rolling off his old enemy. Strahm nodded in thanks, sitting up. He rubbed his neck, and Hoffman saw that his arm was broken in two. However, it moved like a normal arm. There just happened to be a bone sticking out of him. "You killed me, Hoffy, and it doesn't sit well with you that you are reliving your horrors…" Strahm motioned to his arm. "I couldn't survive. Neither will you."

"Thanks for the fucking speech," Hoffman spat.

"Be patient. Alice is alive. She's Jigsaw. She'll push through," Strahm sighed as he stood. "Now buck up, asshole." And with that, Caesar returned and Brutus gained purpose.

_The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves._

_ Julius Caesar, Shakespeare_

* * *

I'm back, bitches! Hehehe…

SMH


	10. Chapter 10

I don't own SAW

Escape

Mark kicked open the door, dodging another blade. His face was a mask of fury, unfeeling and monstrous. It was a determined snarl. The only thing that was on his mind was bringing the eminent end to Johnny Strahm and saving Alice. Peter Strahm's voice rang in his forehead, repeating and probing at his mind. The hallway expanded before him, but there was only one more room.

His death.

Blood ran down from the gash in his stomach and his pulverized hand. Mark saw red, images swimming in and out. His shoulder collided with the wall, forcing his head back. He shook himself back into reality before pushing on. Had to continue. Had to… The lights flashed as he walked further towards the door. It blinded him, and he was steadying himself on the wall again.

"Hello Mark."

Mark looked up, eyes meeting a man. The man was dressed in red robes, hood covering his face. The way his vision was failing him, Mark didn't know if it was a hallucination or not. Mark blinked, rubbing his forearm over his eyes. He let out a groan of pain, sinking to the ground. He wanted this to end. He welcomed death.

"Giving up so soon?"

"Shut up."

The figure bent before him, cloak billowing out from beneath him. "I still have Alice."

Mark twisted his mouth into a sneer, striking out with his unbroken hand. It connected hard with the man's face, knocking him backwards. As the man staggered, Mark rose to his feet. "And for that, you have made an even bigger mistake." Even limping and with one good arm, Mark was far bigger and stronger than the man. Surges of adrenaline kept him upright. Another punch later the man was thrown to the ground, and the hood fell back. "Strahm, right?"

Johnny's hands flew up to cover his nose which poured blood. A large bruise was beginning to form under his eye. Mark towered over him. Anger pulsed through him. "Stay back!"

"You are so pitiful!" Mark hissed, punching Johnny in the face again. "Did you expect me to give up? After all I've been through? You think that a broken hand and a little blood will put me down?" He gestured towards his face. "I've gotten much worse."

"Mark?"

Mark froze, turning his head only slightly. His stomach dropped. Alice was there. Not only was she there, she was alive. At her side stood a man that he hoped never to see again. Bobby Dagan was staring at him with hatred and shock. All the energy suddenly leaked from his body. Mark's knees wobbled, and he hit the ground.

_Don't give up now, you bastard!_

_ Mark!_

_ She's alive! Now fight!_

_ Like the knights of old…_

He faintly heard a scream, followed by the wet sounds of a fistfight. Mark tried to keep his eyes open if only for a moment more. He was being lifted, gently and firmly, but he couldn't do much to help. He saw a blur that looked like Alice, and behind her, there was an even larger blur. With his last string of consciousness, Mark cried out in warning. He slumped into the strange arms, hands shaking.

* * *

When Alice opened the door, her heart leapt into her throat. She had thought Mark was dead, but there he was. He stood above a man in a cloak, fist raised. The blood dripped down his bare knuckles. She couldn't tell if it was the man's or Mark's. Bobby was right behind her. His mouth dropped open as he saw Mark. That was when Mark dropped to the floor. Alice let out a yowl, running at the man. Her fingers curled into claws, and she slammed against him. The man was already off balance.

"You mother fucker! Don't you fucking touch him!" Alice attacked him over and over again. The man dodged her blows, letting one of his own fly. White pain exploded on the side of Alice's face. Blinking back the tears, she faced the man. "You brought us here. And now you're going to fucking pay!"

"You killed my father, you bitch!" the man hissed.

"I'm sure he deserved it!"

"Alice!" Mark's voice pulled her from the battle. Alice spun around, fist connecting with the jaw of a blonde woman. The woman's eyes sparkled with anger, a familiar anger. Taylor unsheathed a knife from behind her back. Alice backpedaled quickly, keeping the two assailants in front of her. Her gaze darted to Mark. He was being lifted carefully off the ground. Bobby's face was drawn in a thick, but resigned frown. Taylor swung the knife.

Alice batted off Taylor and her boyfriend with surprising ease. Her combat training as an agent and as an apprentice assisted her immensely, but it didn't mean they got a lucky hit in. Alice screamed as the blade sliced through her shirt and into her stomach. Alice spun, elbowing Taylor in the nose. The woman gasped, dropping the knife with a clatter. Alice dove, but the man dove with her. They rolled, hands grasping and reaching.

"I'm going to kill you all!" Johnny spat as he rolled on top of her. Alice brought up her knee to his crotch. Johnny gasped in pain, falling off of her hips. Alice grabbed the knife. With a yowl, she sank the knife into Johnny's chest. Time froze. Johnny's eyes widened, hands flying to the hole between his ribs. Blood spurted from the wound as Alice withdrew the knife. "Sh… shit…"

"Die, mother fucker." She sank it in again. A scream rocketed past her, and Alice's head snapped to the side. The knife left her grasp again. Taylor tackled her, trapping her wrists above her head. "Gah! Get off!" Taylor's weight was enough to keep her down. Alice whipped her head around, trying to gain purchase.

"Get off of her!"

Taylor's weight was lifted, and Bobby pulled her quickly to her feet. He let a smile slip, dodging a blow from the blonde. Together, Alice and Bobby shoved Taylor back into a wall. That's when they heard a pin being pulled. A blade swung down from above, burying itself into Taylor's stomach. Her feet were wrenched from the ground. Taylor let out a gurgle of a scream before collapsing into the blade. Bobby's face contorted in disgust.

"I thought I'd never see that again…"

Alice chuckled darkly. "Mark!" Realizing his absence, she spun around. Mark was leaning against a wall, shrouded in darkness and blood. She bent before him, smoothing back his hair. His forehead dripped with sweat, infection and loss setting in. Alice began to panic, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Come on. Wake up for me…" She pressed her lips against his, cold and unforgiving. Mark didn't move.

"Is he dead?" Bobby knelt beside her.

"Why do you fucking care?" Alice hissed, trying desperately to rub the tears out of her eyes. She pressed her hands against the festering wounds. His hand would never be the same. Even if he got through this, Mark would be forever damaged. Like he wasn't before… Alice rested her forehead against his. "Please…"

"Al…" Mark's lips barely moved. The words never came, but it was enough. Alice laughed, smiling. The tears flowed unabashedly.

"Bobby, we need to get him to a hospital. Do you know any doctors who would examine him without handing us both over to the police?"

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck, but nodded. He could think of a few.

* * *

Please R&R. Thanks for the ones while I was gone!

SMH


	11. Chapter 11

Last chapter… Can you believe it?

I don't own SAW

Breaking Free

Mark's eyes blinked open. Light filtered through thick curtains. The smell of disinfectant made his nose wrinkle, frowning. He felt incredibly numb. Ever so slowly, Mark began to feel pins and needles run over his fingertips. He groaned, trying to move. It was an uncoordinated dance, jerking here, pushing there. After much effort, Mark managed to sit up, and he looked around. It was not a hospital room. Rather, it was a darkened bedroom with paintings hung on light cream walls. Hospital apparatus was piled around him.

"You barely got out of there…"

Mark's head snapped to the side. John was perched on the edge of his bed, head bowed. Mark shrugged, coughing. "Could have been worse."

"No, it couldn't have!" Amanda growled from the doorway. "Look down."

Mark did so. His hand was bandaged tightly, each finger individually wrapped. What was he, a fucking mummy? Mark lifted his arm, examining it. "And?"

"You may or may not get use of it again!" Amanda frowned, arms crossed over her chest. "How are you going to continue? To test?" She pushed off the wall, watching him closely. Mark suddenly felt the pain meds run out. Pain rippled through his gut. He groaned.

"We'll see…"

There was a knock on the door. Mark grunted in response, ignoring the apparitions. A familiar brunette peeked in the door. Alice ran towards his bed, throwing her hands around his shoulders. She was crying hysterically. Mark's heart broke from the sound of the sobs. With his good hand, ignoring the pain, he hugged her to him, trying to quiet her.

"Hey, hey… I'm fine. I'm here…" Mark let a grin slip. "See, I'm in one piece…"

"Just barely," Amanda snorted.

"I thought I had lost you…" Alice cried. With a growl, she punched him on the forearm. "If you ever do that again, I swear to God I'll put you through a trap myself!" Mark groaned. Suddenly the pain was replaced with warmth spreading from his lips. Alice pulled him closer. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be…" Mark kissed her deeply, gripping the back of her hair. Alice flinched slightly as his hands brushed over her bruises. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I never meant to hurt you…"

"I forgive you," Alice smiled. "Bobby is allowing us to stay here until you're healed."

"I thought that kid hated me for killing his wife…"

"He got over it," Alice pressed another kiss to his lips. "Now rest. We'll discuss this later…"

* * *

_Five Months Later: _

"So you mean to tell me that Terminator has the best time travel?" Alice snorted. "I hardly think so."

Mark looked away from the road briefly, laughing. "Not this again…"

Bobby sank back in his seat, grunting. "It's a valid argument."

Alice chuckled again, adjusting her seatbelt. The sun was slowly going over the Colorado mountains, basking the valleys in deep shades of purple and red. Mark's bandaged hand was resting in his lap, perfectly capable of steering with one hand. He had healed rather well. Bobby had been more than willing to assist Alice, never once paying attention to Hoffman. The car became silent again.

Alice frowned, hand flying to her stomach. Hoffman flashed a look of concern. The look was enough to lower her defenses if only by a little. Should she tell him? Was it worth it? The Jigsaw murderers had dropped off the map, ignored by pretty much everyone. No new subjects had surfaced. Alice had all but quit, dedicating her life to Mark. Bobby just came along for the ride. Her stomach moved beneath her hand. Yes, it was time. She would begin to show any time now.

"Mark, honey… I need to tell you something," Alice asked nicely. She curled her hand around her seatbelt.

"Yeah?" Mark tilted his head.

"I'm… pregnant."

The car swerved.

The Jigsaw murderers were never truly finished.

But on that day, Mark found out that he didn't need the life of a serial killer.

Fin


End file.
